


A Brick in the Wall

by Hexiva



Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Established Relationship, Toxic Masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: One night in Dover, Alec is injured, and James helps him. Over the years, it's James, and Alec, and the space between them.
Relationships: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Linorien for suggesting the title!

**Dover, England, January 1983**

Another successful mission from Agents 007 and 006. The debriefing seems to take forever. Alec starts out the debriefing cocky and snide, but his smugness fades into sullen disinterest over the course of the long briefing. James, on the other hand, slips into that familiar cold, robotic state of distance that he often retreats into on missions. Sometimes it’s only Alec’s snide comments that bring him back to himself. But Alec is silent. 

It feels like hours before M lets them walk out of her office. “I thought she’d never be done,” James comments. “I feel like a schoolboy being quizzed on history all over again.”

“Mngh,” Alec grunts, noncommittally. 

James glances over at him, and blinks. Alec looks pale, his face drawn into tense lines. It dawns on James that Alec’s increasing silence wasn’t just boredom, but something more. “You look like death warmed over, Alec,” he comments, reaching out to put a hand on Alec’s arm. 

Alec shoves his hand away. “I don’t need a nursemaid, James,” he snaps, but the movement reveals a dark patch on his shirt that was previously hidden by the cut of his jacket, the white fabric turned red with blood. 

James swore. “When did that happen?” he says. 

“Coquelles,” Alec mutters.

“Coquelles - ?” James does the math. There was a firefight in Coquelles, yes, but he didn’t think Alec had been hit, and from there it had been a long chase on foot, and then a stolen car to Calais, and only then to Dover, where they are now. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

Alec shrugs. “Didn’t seem important at the time.”

“You could’ve bled out on the boat over, you bloody fool,” James says. He grabs Alec by the arm, and tugs him into the nearest empty office, which happens to be Q’s. 

Alec looks around. “Are you sure the chair isn’t actually a bomb?” he jokes, weakly, as James pushes him into Q’s desk chair.

“Q knows better than to trap his own chair. He values his arse too highly for that.” James goes over to Q’s private cabinet and enters Q’s personal code into the keypad - carefully, because James happens to know that Q  _ does  _ trap his liquor cabinet. Fortunately, it appears Q hasn’t updated his security recently, and James is able to open the cabinet door and snag a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Q also keeps a spare shirt in the cabinet, presumably in case one of his experiments blows up in his face, and James grabs that too. 

“Get your shirt off,” he orders Alec, pouring two shots of whiskey. 

Alec chuckles. “Why, James, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to take advantage.” He pulls off his jacket, wincing as the movement pulls on his wound, and starts on the buttons of his shirt. 

James snorts, and swallows down his shot of whiskey. “I’m offended that you think my standards are so low. I can do better than  _ you.”  _ His eyes linger on Alec’s fingers as they work the buttons, a little unsteady, a little shaky. He wants to reach out and help, but he knows Alec won’t let him. Alec will push him away and mock him.

Alec gets the shirt off, revealing a red gash in his side, as if a shallow cylinder of flesh was simply shaved away. He discards the bloodied shirt on Q’s desk, staining the quartermaster’s paperwork. 

“Near miss. I was grazed by one of those bastards with the guns,” Alec says. “It’s hardly life-threatening.”

“Anything’s life threatening if you don’t clean it out,” James points out. He pulls out his boot knife, slices off a hunk of Q’s shirt, and pours whiskey on it.

Alec makes a face. “Tragic waste of a good whiskey,” he says.

James shrugs. “Not  _ my  _ whiskey,” he points out, and presses the rag to Alec’s wound. Alec flinches and hisses, and James puts a hand on the other side of his waist, steadying him as he wipes away the blood. 

Alec looks up at James, and his eyes are suddenly intense. James can’t tell what’s burning in them - anger? Bitterness? Desire? All of the above, and for a moment, James thinks Alec is about to say something. Admit to something, to whatever darkness lurks in his mind, whatever it is that takes him in moments like this. It’s not the first time James has seen his friend look at him like this. 

And then the moment is gone, and Alec looks away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” James dares to ask, as he cuts more strips out of Q’s shirt and secures them around Alec’s waist as makeshift bandages.

Alec hisses at the touch, and then shakes his head. “I’ve given up more than blood for England, James,” he says.

“We all have,” James says. 

Alec chuckles, bitterly, and James gets the unnerving feeling that they’re having two different conversations. “Yes, you’d give up anything for your country, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s a strange way of saying  _ thanks for saving me from gangrene, James,”  _ James says. Alec has never been the staunch patriot James is. James once asked him why he had joined MI6. Alec shrugged and said,  _ It seemed like fun at the time.  _

Alec laughs. “Oh, very well.  _ Thank  _ you, James. Now give me a hand up.” 

James reaches out and pulls him up, and then Alec is standing in his arms, and James realizes they’re very close, and Alec isn’t moving away. He’s staring into James’ eyes, one hand on James’ shoulder, almost close enough to - 

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your country, James?” Alec asks, very quietly. “Any order you wouldn’t follow?”

James studies Alec’s eyes. “No,” he says, equally quietly.

Alec chuckles, and lets go of his shoulder to grab the glass of whiskey. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and downs the whiskey. “Mmm. Good stuff.” He makes his way to the door.

“Alec - ” James says, still standing by the desk.

“Goodnight, James,” Alec says, firmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he is gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

**London, England, February 1996**

James sits up in bed and pours himself the last glass of the champagne he had brought for Natalya the night before. It’s gone a little flat, but it still tastes all right. 

“James?” Natalya mutters, half asleep, and reaches out to flick on the bedside lamp. She blinks up at him, and he takes a moment to admire her naked form. “Are you leaving already?”

“I have work early,” James says, draining the champagne glass. “Queen and country and all that.”

Natalya sighs. “It must be very difficult to carry on a relationship, with the hours you keep,” she says. 

“I wouldn’t know,” James says. “I’ve never tried. Not really the relationship sort of chap.”

Natalya frowns, and pulls the blanket up over herself, and looks away. “That’s not what you said last night,” she mutters.

Distantly, James feels sorry for her. “Must’ve been the champagne talking,” he says, callously. He stands and starts to dress. 

Natalya collapses onto the sheets, and puts one hand over her eyes. “Are all you Englishmen like this?” 

“Like what?” James asks, absently. 

“So - ugh - what is the phrase in English? You are cold and hot. One then the other.”

James smiles and chuckles. “No. We’re not all like that. Only the spies. We have to be cold, you see . . .” He buttons his shirt.

“And Janus?”

James’ hands start, and the button slips out of his fingers. He hides the reaction, turning away from her. “What about Janus?”

“He was a spy, too. Is that how he became so cold?” There’s something accusing in Natalya’s voice.

James grits his teeth. “Janus was fucked up long before MI6 got to him,” he snaps, and pulls on his coat. “I have to go. Perhaps I’ll call you tomorrow evening. If I have time.” He knows he’s being cruel. 

Natalya sighs. James starts for the door.

“James,” she calls out, and he stops for a moment. “I know . . . I know . . . what happened in Severnaya - it wasn’t easy.” Her voice wavers. “I still see it in my dreams sometimes. And what you do - it can’t be easy either. So I - I understand. I know why you’re being cold. So if you want to call me tomorrow, just to talk . . . I understand.”

Pain lances through James’ chest, and he grits his teeth, and he wonders suddenly what it feels like to be Natalya, right now. What does it feel like? Reaching out over the gap, past the silence, to a man who can’t reach back?

He suspects it feels a lot like being James Bond, circa 1983.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Natalya,” he says, coldly, and opens the door. “See you tomorrow. Perhaps.” And he steps through, and slams the door behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Goldeneye, Cuba, November 1995**

The base of the platform is a tiny white circle drifting above the ground far below, and James is pinned to it, Alec above him. Alec’s hand is on his throat, and Alec looks just the way he always did on a mission, scars or no. Cocky, and bitter, and dashing. He’s bleeding, and for a terrible moment, James thinks of one night in Dover, when Alec looked just like this, staring back at James across a barrier neither of them could break. 

A helicopter comes close, and Alec glances away, and James seizes that moment of distraction to rise up and kick him full in the chest, sending him flying off the platform.

And then - 

James moves almost without thinking. It’s instinct, after all those years fighting by Alec’s side. He reaches out and catches Alec’s foot, and now Alec is dangling from his hands, anchored to life only by James’ grasp.

They hang there for a moment, and Alec stares up at James, and James stares back. He thinks they both know exactly what the other is thinking. 

Alec grins his typical cocky, shit-stirring grin, but his voice is shaky when he says, “For England, James?”

_ Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your country, James?  _ James hears in his head. And he thinks about the way Alec looked at him, in that moment - the man who was both his best friend and the weapon of the country that slaughtered his family. James knows, now, why Alec asked that. 

The barrier between them has never been bigger. It would be so easy to retreat back into that easy coldness, that distance in his mind. After all, only Alec had ever been able to pull him out of it. All he has to do is let go, and Alec would be gone, forever.

“James?” Alec asks, and his voice is quieter now, more shaken. He doesn’t know what James is thinking anymore. 

“To hell with England,” James says, and he anchors his legs around the satellite platform, and pulls Alec up onto solid ground.

Alec grabs hold of him to steady himself, and stares up at him, at a loss for words. He had been certain, James knew, of what was going to happen.

“Am I supposed to thank you now?” Alec manages.

“To be honest, I don’t give a damn what you do next, Alec,” James says, and then he pulls back his fist, and hits Alec in the head as hard as he can. Alec goes backwards again, but this time James is ready, and catches him before he can go over the edge. 

Alec is limp and unconscious in his arms, and James holds on to him as the helicopter comes closer to the platform. He tells himself it’s because M will want to take Janus in for questioning. It’s just because he can’t afford to let Alec slip off the platform. 

And even still, as James sits there with Alec’s body cradled against his, a thought lingers in the back of his mind: this is the only chance he will ever get to hold Alec.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my first Alec/James fic! If you liked it, please leave a comment to tell me what you think - concrit welcome as well!


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